Your Slim Gilt Soul
by Alice Dodgson
Summary: 6th-year AU. Ron and Hermione are finally together, but suddenly Ron comes to realize that the sparks aren't there - and there's someone else he's fallen for. Can he deal with the angst over re-examining his sexuality, and get the courage to tell Harry how he feels? RW/HP slash.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize here belongs to J.K. Rowling, the author whose characters and intricate world inspire me so much.

The title of this story comes from a letter from the writer Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) to Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas.

**Prologue**

Those eyes. Their splendor was not only manifest in the way they shone like two precious gemstones, but how sincere and gentle they looked – especially when little lines formed at their corners as a result of laughter.

That smile. It was charming whether it took the form of a cheerful grin, a shy, close-mouthed crescent moon, or an amused smirk. It was as powerful as a Patronus for dispelling unhappy feelings, because no one could ever look at that smile and feel anything except peacefulness and joy.

That dark hair. Its wildness made it much more charming than it would have been if it lay as straight and flat as most other peoples' hair. It seemed as if its refusal to be tamed matched the daring and the uniqueness of the soul housed within the body.

That skin. It looked soft, and begging to be stroked lovingly with a hand or a single finger. It was pale, but not at all sickly or sallow; rather, a lovely paleness not unlike that of a Greek deity in a Botticelli painting. How could anyone's skin be so smooth and perfect, and so untouched by the blemishes that plagued other teenagers?

How was it that the jagged scar on his forehead did not look at all like a flaw, but instead seemed like an endearing characteristic that was every bit as beautiful as the rest of his face?

The strong attraction Harry's admirer felt for him was about much more than his physical attractiveness. Anyone could look at him and assert that he was "cute." No, his admirer, who had known Harry and forged a close friendship with him over six years now, had come to see the real young man behind the myth of the Boy Who Lived.

It was not as though Harry's faults hadn't made themselves known also over the years. He could be too impulsive, overly moody, at times even selfish. But a person's characteristics which can annoy or hurt you are often the same things that you love about him.

Harry was impulsive because he was also brave - despite Harry's own doubts in his second year, it was clear that he was suited to no other house as well as Gryffindor. And his courageousness was tightly tied in with his intense loyalty; once he befriended you, he would risk anything to protect you. (His admirer had been on the receiving end of that loyalty on more than one occasion.) He could be moody because he had a good heart, felt every emotion deeply, and was always very honest about his feelings. And if he was sometimes selfish...well, his admirer had finally come to understand why. Merlin knows he deserved to be selfish every once in awhile, with the weight that had been hanging on his shoulders since he was an infant of not only being parentless, but also being the boy who was supposed to save the magical world from the most evil wizard in a century.

Despite his shortcomings, despite the things that had happened to him that would turn a weaker personality into a bitter, nasty git like Professor Snape – Harry was a beautiful person: whether you looked simply at him or looked more deeply within him, it was a fact that could not possibly be denied.

The person who had fallen in love with him had tried to deny it many times, but finally admitted that he could do so no longer. As sure as Harry Potter was beautiful, another fact loomed even larger, more heavily: Ron Weasley was in love with his best friend.


	2. Dare Not Speak Its Name

**A/N:** The title of this chapter is once again inspired by Oscar Wilde. "I am the love that dare not speak its name" is a quote from a poem written to him by his lover, Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas.

**Chapter 1: Dare Not Speak Its Name**

If only Ron had been aware of his feelings for Harry sooner...such as, before the summer holiday, when he'd begun dating Hermione.

What confused him most of all was that he was still genuinely attracted to Hermione. No one needed to tell him that she was a good catch. She was brilliant, as everyone knew; a great friend; and as cute as all get-out. But at the same time, he'd realized that he liked the professional Quidditch player Finn O'Flahertie for more than just his athletic skills.

He still winced in memory of the incident that happened to him at the Chuddley Cannons versus the Ballycastle Bats game. The summer before his sixth year, he'd attended the Quidditch event with Hermione and his family. It was, in fact, his and Hermione's first public outing as a couple. With all the stress and trauma he and his friends had experienced the previous school year, he could finally be carefree and happy as he sat hand-in-hand with his girlfriend, watching an exciting game of his favorite sport in all the world. Ludo Bagman's voice thundered over the noise made by several hundred enthusiastic witches and wizards:

"...and now we're getting a glimpse of Finn O'Flahertie, the new Seeker for the Bats. Some say his speed and reflexes even rival those of Viktor Krum ..."

Ron scowled at the mention of the young Bulgarian seeker who had been the cause of so much of his jealousy in his fourth year. Hermione laughed at the expression on Ron's face, and said teasingly,

"Don't worry, Ron. I'm not planning on taking Finn as my date to any Yule Balls."

"Okay, I believe you. But Merlin help me, if you start calling him 'Finny'..."

Hermione punched him good-humoredly in the arm and protested, "I never called Viktor 'Vicky'! Take it back!" Ron grinned at her, admiring how adorable she was when she pretended to be mad at him.

When the game started, he took out his omnioculars and watched a close-up of O'Flahertie flying on his broomstick. He noticed the seeker's toned and defined body, still visible through all the Quidditch gear he had on...he noticed his rugged and boyishly handsome face, and how his jaw- length blond hair blew behind him as he sped through the air...

And then.

Ron stood up out of seat, so quickly he forget to let go of Hermione's hand and twisted her wrist in a way that made her exclaim, "Ouch!"

"Sorry," he muttered, climbing over the legs of his family so that he could get to the aisle stairs. He pulled the bottom of his shirt even further down his front, as if he was trying to conceal something. "I just realized...uh...need to use the loo..." He dashed off in the direction of the public toilets, leaving his companions looking bewildered.

Once inside the bathroom, he locked himself inside a stall and covered his face with his hands in mortification. No, this couldn't be happening. It must be a delayed reaction to sitting so close to Hermione, or maybe it was one of those completely random hormonal things...

He couldn't be getting a hard-on looking at Finn O'Flahertie – a _man_.

After a few minutes, when his arousal had been completely killed by his horror, he decided to return to his seat. It would be embarrassing as all hell to go back after sprinting to the toilets, looking as if he'd been hit with a sudden and severe case of diarrhea. But it was still less embarrassing than the truth.

Hermione gave him a worried glance as he settled back into his seat. "You okay, Ron?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he responded too quickly, giving her a squeeze of the hand and a fake smile. "It must have been, uh...the corned beef sandwich Mum packed for me. Doesn't agree with me. That's why I hate them so much. What did I miss?" He turned his head back to the Quidditch pitch, trying to keep his gaze off both O'Flahertie and the raised eyebrows of his companions.

And there was – even more significant in Ron's mind – what occurred a few weeks later. It was the night before they would go to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express, and Ron and Harry were packing their suitcases in Ron's bedroom of the Burrow. His eyes fell upon something small and shiny lying in Harry's open trunk, and instinctively bent down to look at it.

"Hey Harry, what's this?" he asked casually, holding it up. The piece of soft brown cloth that was partially wrapped around the object fell away to reveal several shards of a broken mirror. When Harry caught sight of what Ron was looking at, the reaction on his face was as if Ron were ogling a photograph of his deceased mother.

"Don't touch that!" Harry exclaimed, snatching it out of Ron's hand and staring at him with a look of absolute fury. "What the hell are you thinking, just grabbing my stuff like that?!" He wrapped the mirror back in the cloth, put it into his trunk, and slammed the lid shut, even though he was far from being finished packing.

Ron stared at him with his mouth agape. He didn't know what to say at first. He hadn't seen Harry this mad at him since their fight over Harry's name getting into the Goblet of Fire.

"Merlin's balls, mate," he cried at last, "you don't have to tear me a new one!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I do," Harry snapped, sitting on top of his trunk as if he thought Ron would try to open it and steal the mirror from him in a game of keep-away. "I don't get any privacy as it is."

"What's got you so sore over a broken mirror, anyway?"

"You don't understand!" Harry shouted. "You _couldn't_ understand! Your godfather didn't die!"

"This is about Sirius? Did – did he give you that mirror?"

"Do you honestly think I want to talk about it?" Harry turned his back to Ron. Ron was at a loss at what to do. He always froze up when people got emotional around him, and this was Harry's first mention of Sirius since his death. Ron struggled to think of how Hermione would handle this situation. She was so much better than he was with this stuff, he thought...

"Look, are you sure that you don't want to talk about it?" Ron stammered. "It might help." This statement seemed to upset Harry even more, and he looked at Ron again with an expression that was truly frightening. It didn't frighten Ron because it was angry, but because it was so full of an even greater sense of despair.

"_Help?_ There's nothing I can do to help what happened – what _I_ did! I didn't open the package until Sirius was already dead! I didn't look for him in this mirror when I had that vision of him being tortured by Voldemort – so I didn't know that he was perfectly safe in Grimmauld Place! I killed him by going off to try to save him, just like a good Gryffindor and the famous, courageous Harry Potter! I –"

He would have gone on like this, without a breath or a pause, if Ron hadn't at that moment clobbered into him with a lightening-fast and bear-tight hug. The embrace was so unlike the brief platonic hugs they'd shared before. It put a stop to Harry's hysterical shouting, but that wasn't the only reaction Harry had: his body shook in Ron's arms as he let out a choking sob.

Holding Harry like that, Ron was shocked to feel a tenderness for him that he'd never experienced before during their six years of friendship. Instead of the awkwardness he'd felt previously when faced with someone who was crying, right then he never wanted to let Harry go. He was filled with a sudden desire to curl up with Harry on the bed, to keep his arms comfortingly wrapped around the warm, lean body of his friend as he whispered things like, "Don't worry, I'm here," into his ear. What was happening to him?

After a few moments, Harry pulled away from the embrace – but when his red-rimmed, teary eyes met Ron's again, he appeared to have calmed down considerably.

"Look, I – I'm sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have gone off on you like that."

"Well...I was being a nosy prat."

Harry let out a small laugh in response. "And I was being an overly-sensitive git. The other day Hermione got so fed up with me for snapping at her," he added, grimacing, "she said that my PMS is worse than hers."

A chortle escaped Ron. "What, do you get cramps and bloating? I bet we could conjure you a potion for that...or a tampon..." A second later, he was wrapped in one of Harry's playful headlocks.

"Hey, _you'll_ be the one with cramps and bloating if you don't shut your trap!"

"Oh yeah?" Ron grinned, wrestling Harry to the floor. "We'll see about that!"

Although Ron was deeply relieved to have patched things up with Harry so quickly, he knew that there were things that still remained unsaid. In the middle of their wrestling – during which Ron noted that Harry's previously scrawny body had developed some muscle, and it looked and felt great – he stopped and said seriously,

"You know, Harry, I don't think I've had your back lately like I should. You've been dealing with loads of stuff, and I've never told you that I'm here if you need me. I feel like a crap friend."

Harry shook his head. "Nah, Ron, you're not. I haven't exactly been inviting anyone to help or console me. I think even Hermione's been afraid to talk to me about Sirius, 'cos of the way I've been acting. But as far as I know," he continued, that sincerity returning to his eyes, "you're the only friend of mine who would've done what you just did."

Ron looked down at the floor. He didn't want to say or do anything that would let on the fact that he'd wanted to do so much more. So he just said softly,

"Any time, mate."

* * *

**A:/N:** I know it's uncouth, but I couldn't resist writing that joke that Ron made about Harry needing a tampon. That's the way a lot of teenage boys I've known talk to each other...and, okay, I was totally giggling while I wrote it. Sometimes I need to write a little comic relief to break up all the angst.


	3. Never Be Ashamed To Love

**A/N:** The title of this chapter is from a quote from the wonderful book _The Mists of Avalon_ by Marion Zimmer Bradley. The entire quotation is (if I remember it correctly): "My darling child, never be ashamed to love."

One last thing: if you love Harry/Ron as much as I do, I discovered another great story on using this pairing: "Fitted Edges" by LardenceLover. The tone is very sardonic, yet sweet, and I just love it. So do yourself a favor and read it sometime.

**Chapter 2: Never Be Ashamed To Love**

Come September, Ron had far more than just the expected stress of new classes, homework, Quidditch, and even Voldemort to worry about: now he was forced into the hellish experience of re-examining his sexuality. He could come to no conclusion, except...

"I must have just _turned_ gay," he thought. How could he have gone from being so excited about his new relationship with Hermione, to now being infatuated – no, he had to admit that it was deeper than just infatuation – with Harry? He still liked Hermione; he still found her attractive and a joy to be around. No matter what he did with her, whether it was kissing or just hanging out, he felt content and safe. But what he felt when he was around Harry was something much more intense than just contentment. Even just walking next to Harry through the halls of Hogwarts, or engaging in a battle of wizard chess with him in the Gryffindor common room, it was as if a new passion was awakened inside him, one he'd never been aware of before. Wasn't falling in love with someone supposed to be an exciting experience? It was just his luck that instead of happiness, he would be riddled with agony and confusion.

Trying to sort it all out in his head caused him a lot of anxiety – anxiety so apparent that both his girlfriend and the new object of his affection noticed right away. When Harry came down for breakfast by himself one morning a few weeks after the start of the term, Hermione asked in a concerned tone,

"Where's Ron? Is he okay?"

"I went to get him up, but he said he didn't feel like eating anything this morning and he told me to let him sleep in," Harry said as he scanned the headlines of the Daily Prophet. Hermione looked alarmed.

"_Ron _didn't feel like eating anything? Ron, who has his mouth full half the time I'm trying to have a conversation with him?"

"Yeah, I thought it sounded odd, but-"

"Harry, something must really be bothering him. He's been acting so withdrawn lately, haven't you noticed?"

"Actually, yeah, I have," Harry said thoughtfully, putting down the newspaper. A moment later he added, looking troubled, "I dunno, but I think it might be something that I did. I sort of blew up at him awhile ago. We called a truce, but I guess he could still be upset about it."

"If you really worked it out, he wouldn't still be mad," Hermione pointed out. "No, there's something else that's weighing on him, I can just sense it. He's even been acting odd with me lately."

"Odd how?"

Hermione flushed, and paused as if she was trying to decide whether to reveal something that she found embarrassing. "He...he hardly touches me anymore," she said at last, a sad look coming to her brown eyes. "And I can feel his whole body tense up every time I kiss him or try to hold his hand…it's very awkward. It never used to be that way." She swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat. "Maybe it's not you he's mad at. Maybe it's me."

"Can't be," Harry reassured her, reaching out and patting her shoulder. "What in the world have _you_ ever done to him? Look, I don't know what's eating him but we should talk to him, and soon."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "Do you mind, Harry, if I speak to him first? You know I don't want to exclude you, but I'm his girlfriend, and all..."

"Be my guest. You're better at that stuff than Ron or me, anyway."

* * *

Ron not only skipped breakfast that day but his classes as well. This behavior was highly unusual for him, even though he wasn't as studious as Hermione. The several weeks of struggling to make sense of his new feelings were really starting to get to him. He felt guilty because of how distant he'd been acting toward Hermione, and at the same time he felt like he was living a lie by pretending to have feelings of mere friendship for Harry. So when he awoke on that grey, drizzly morning, he decided that instead of putting himself in a situation where he'd once again feel like a liar and a terrible boyfriend, he would spend the day by himself.

He stayed in his bed until about eleven o'clock, after a few hours of sleeping fitfully, waking, then sleeping fitfully again. The thought entered his mind of sneaking to the kitchens and getting some food from the house elves, but his stomach was in too many knots for him to eat anything except the stash of candy from Honeydukes that he kept under his mattress. So, still in his pyjamas, he sat on the window seat, nibbling at his Chocolate Frogs and staring forlornly through the window at the falling rain outside.

After an hour or so, he began to get bored and wondered why Harry and Hermione hadn't come looking for him yet. He had been certain that they would be alarmed when he didn't show up for classes – or maybe they thought he'd been acting like such a wanker that they didn't care anymore? What if he lost the two people who meant the most to him?

_I've got to stop sitting here worrying and feeling sorry for myself, or I'll drive myself mad_, Ron thought, shaking his head of uncombed red hair. He noticed that the rain was finally beginning to let up, and the tiniest sliver of sunshine was piercing through the overcast sky. And then the idea occurred to him that now might be a good time to practice his Keeping skills. The first Quidditch game of the school year, between Gryffindor and their archrival house, was coming up. Despite all his other worries, he would feel even worse if he played poorly. No, he wouldn't let himself lose the game for Gryffindor on top of everything else.

He grabbed his Cleansweep Seven, a bat, and a quaffle from underneath his bed, and put on a pair of Wellington boots. Instead of bothering to change out of his pyjamas he simply covered them with the robe he used for playing Quidditch in the rain, and set out to the field. Luckily, the weather prevented any of the teams from coming to the field to practice, so he had the entire wide open space to himself. He put a spell on the quaffle so that it would fly toward the goalposts on its own, and so he was free to practice his blocking with the bat. The rush of soaring through the air after the quaffle and whacking it with all his strength was an excellent method of releasing all his bottled-up energy and emotions. For an hour or so, he almost forgot about the girlfriend he was not sure he wanted to date anymore but still cared deeply about, and the boy who had been inflicting so much misery on him just by existing and being desirable.

And then he spotted her. From where she stood, she looked as small as a queen from a wizarding chess board, but he could still recognize her: Hermione. She was waving at him, beckoning him to come down. Ron sighed. Would he never find even the most momentary escape? Knowing that she wasn't going to wait to talk to him, he reluctantly flew down.

"Ron, I've been looking all over for you," she cried as he touched the ground. "Harry and I were so worried when you didn't come to breakfast – or to class! We're getting closer and closer to our N.E.W.T.s, you know, so you really shouldn't be missing any of your classes..."

"You crazy woman, we don't even have N.E.W.T.s until the end of next year - and besides, why didn't you come for me sooner if you were so worried?" Ron's irritated tone of voice masked how relieved he really was. _So they were looking for me after all – I guess they can't hate me that much,_ he thought hopefully.

"We didn't come for you sooner because we were _in class_, you git!" Hermione's response took him completely by surprise. She'd never called him such a rude name before, no matter how much he'd annoyed her in the past. He stared at her wide-eyed as she continued, "And during lunch hour Harry went to your room, but you weren't there, so it was our guess as to where you could possibly be. Then Dean Thomas mentioned that he'd seen someone with red hair practicing on the Quidditch field, and he thought it was a Weasley, so we figured it must be you." She moved closer toward him, put a firm hand on his shoulder, and looked him straight in the eyes. "Ronald, can you please tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing – I just didn't feel like going to classes today, that's all," he said lamely. "We had Divination and Double Potions, so can you blame me?" Someone who wasn't even half as smart as Hermione could have seen through his lie, and he knew it.

"Come off it, Ron. I know how much you hate Snape and Trelawney, but you've never skipped their classes before, except when you were ill and you're clearly not ill now. There's something – or someone – else you're avoiding." She paused, and when she spoke again she no longer sounded accusatory. "I was hoping that, even if you didn't talk to anyone else, you'd come to _me_ about it," she said, her every word full of pain.

_Bloody hell_, Ron silently cursed himself, _I've got to stop this. I have to tell her the truth, because I can't keep hurting her like this. But if I tell her...it might hurt her more._

He looked into her dark eyes, which were full of anticipation as she waited for him to respond.

"There...is...something...I've been wanting to tell you, 'Mione," he said slowly, stumbling over the words. He was already breaking into a nervous sweat. "But I was afraid to...because..."

"Is it something I did?" Hermione broke in.

"No! GODS, no!" His horrified response seemed to grant her some relief. Her entire body relaxed, and then she asked,

"Well, what is it then?"

"I don't know if you'll understand. I'm so sorry, but I don't think this is something you'll just shrug off when you hear it," he pleaded. "It's made me afraid that I might lose you, and Harry...there's a side of me even I didn't know about until recently, so I don't know how you can accept it if I can't...and I'm so afraid that it'll just end up hurting you..."

"_RON!_" she silenced his babbling. "You're not going to lose me and Harry! What 'side' of you are you talking about? Just tell me!"

"Hermione, I don't think that I'm straight."

There it was. Finally, it was out – no more hiding. If she accepted him, or if she cursed him forever, he would have to deal with it. It was out of his hands.

"You're gay?" she exclaimed, her mouth forming a perfect O-shape. It was obvious that out of all the things she thought she might hear, this was not one of them.

"Yeah, I guess. Well, I dunno. That's what I've been trying to figure out." He felt very uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet and stared down at the damp ground, waiting for her to say something.

To his shock, he found himself squeezed inside the tightest hug Hermione's small arms could muster.

"Oh, Ron," she cried, "how could you think that you'd lose us over something as inconsequential as all that?"

"But...but..." he stuttered. He was glad she wasn't crying or recoiling in disgust at his announcement, but this didn't make sense at all. "I'm dating _you_! We've been together for a couple of months now! How can you find out that your boyfriend's probably gay and be just fine with it?"

"Well..." She let go of him and looked him in the face. "It _is_ surprising, I'm not going to pretend that I expected this. And I know it means that you and I can't be together anymore, but..." A brief look of sadness and disappointment passed over her face before she went on, "...but I know it's not your fault, and that you didn't plan for this to happen. I need to be supportive of you right now – not make you feel worse."

Ron shook his head. It was unbelievable how unselfish, how wonderful Hermione could be during the time when he thought that he would be breaking her heart. He gave her a quick hug to show his gratitude.

"So you'll be okay, Hermione? I promise, I didn't know when I started dating you. I only started realizing it in the past month..."

Hermione gave a nonchalant wave of her hand. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I mean, I really liked you, and I liked dating you until you started acting strange. But now I know why you were acting that way. And as long as you and I stay friends, I haven't really lost anything."

"I really liked dating you too," Ron confessed. "That's why I've been so confused about the whole bloody thing. It feels like one moment I was with you and I was happy, but then all of a sudden I turned gay."

"No one just _turns_ gay, Ron," Hermione disagreed, laughing a little. "Love potions may exist, but there's no spell or elixir you can give someone to change their sexual orientation. Maybe it just took you this long to realize it. Or maybe you're not gay, but bisexual...like David Bowie, the Muggle rock star."

"David who? What do I care about some Muggle rock star?"

"Well, he fancies both girls and blokes too," Hermione explained. "There are a lot of people who are like that – a lot more than you'd think. I guess what I'm trying to say is, you don't have to call yourself anything if you're not sure. Just like who you like, and be happy. By the way..." A smile crept onto her face. "_Do_ you like anyone right now?"

Ron's face reddened, much to Hermione's delight.

"Oooh, so you do? You'll tell me who it is, won't you?"

"You make it sound like it's so exciting," he said quietly, "but it's really not. I don't know if he likes me, or even likes blokes at all..."

"Is it Harry?"

Ron stared at her with an expression of pure awe. _"How in the hell did you know that?!"_

Hermione shrugged humbly. "It just makes sense. You two are so close, and...I don't know...I guess there are things I noticed before which should have made it somewhat obvious, but I didn't recognize the signs at the time."

"So it is obvious? Do you think he knows?" Ron felt a cold wave of panic swept over him. If Harry had figured out that Ron had those feelings for him, who could be certain that he would be as understanding as Hermione had been?

"No, I don't think he knows. At least he's never mentioned anything to me about it. At any rate, I think you should tell him."

"Tell him? Are you mental, 'Mione? What good could that possibly do? Harry's not gay."

"Oh?" she said, crossing her arms and staring at him pointedly. "And what makes you so sure?"

"Hmm, well, let's see...how about..._he dated Cho Chang!_ And for almost two years before that, he didn't just fancy her – he was absolutely _stupid_ for her," Ron shot back, as if what he'd said was irrefutable proof. Hermione sighed – the same exasperated sigh she let out when she was trying to explain an Arithmancy equation to him.

"Yes, he dated Cho Chang, and as of ten minutes ago you were dating me, Ron Weasley. I assume we're not anymore, because that would make pursuing Harry a little difficult for you. The fact that he was with Cho for about a week last year doesn't mean a thing except that he liked girls at one time. How do you know he's not going through the same thing that you are now?"

Ron started; she certainly had a point. Did he have even the smallest chance with Harry? Did he dare to throw away all his previous fears, and reach toward the hope that lay in the distance?


	4. Reading Emotions Like Tea Leaves

**Chapter 3: Reading Emotions like Tea Leaves**

When Ron walked back to the castle with Hermione – the two back to being just friends, really good friends – he couldn't believe how free he felt. It was as if he'd spent the first part of his sixth year being tortured inside the prison of his own mind. But now that Hermione knew, knew and had given him her blessing to pursue the boy he loved, he could see the sun shining through the bars of his cell window, and he had hope that there might be a secret passageway out. Although his secret was known by only one person, it made all the difference to him in the world.

And Hermione was convinced that Ron's next step should be to tell Harry, an idea that still made Ron nervous. He didn't see how it could be as simple as all that.

"I mean, really, Hermione," he said to her in a hushed voice so that no one could hear, "I can't very well just walk up to Harry and say, 'Hey, mate, thought you should know, I'm queer. And I figured that you probably are too, which would be bloody fantastic, seeing as I'm in love with you. Wanna go snog in the Astronomy Tower?'" Despite his sardonic tone, he immediately shivered a bit at the idea of kissing Harry. That part didn't sound so bad.

"Are you really?" Hermione whispered, stopping in her tracks – a reaction that made Ron surer than ever that she'd gone crazy.

"Am I going to say all that to Harry? Of course not, I was being sarcastic!"

"No, you moron, I meant – are you really in love with him?"

Ron's face flushed for about the tenth time that afternoon.

"Oh, c'mon, don't be embarrassed!" Hermione smiled, patting his arm. "I just didn't know that it was quite like _that_ – I thought maybe it was just a crush. But you're really in love with him? That's so sweet!"

"Well, at first I thought it was just a crush, too," Ron admitted. "Or just physical attraction, or even a weird hormonal phase. But..."

And he related to her the incident involving Sirius' mirror and the hug that had happened at the end of the summer, making Hermione exclaim, "Oh, so _that's_ what he was talking about!"

"What, he told you about it?" Ron cried. "Did he say what he thought about...you know, the hug and all?"

"No, just that you two had had a fight but you'd resolved it."

Ron looked disappointed, but continued, "Well, after that, I spent a lot of time thinking about all the stuff we'd been through together, and everything I knew about him – both the good and the bad, you know...and I guess I figured out that it couldn't be just a crush, it was..."

He almost couldn't bring himself to say the four-letter word again. Its one syllable was so heavy, weighted with so much meaning. It was not a word he would ever take lightly or throw around. But he meant it now, meant it with everything he had.

"I know how I feel," he finished off simply. "I just...I know it's nothing compared to how great I would feel if he felt the same way about me."

"That's the sweetest, most insightful thing I've ever heard you say, Ron Weasley," Hermione said, her voice full of admiration. Then, the analytical side of her taking over again, she continued, "But now see what you mean. Now I know how you really feel about him, we have to go about this very carefully. There's a certain way we should approach this, but what is it?..."

"If you're going to suggest the library, stop it right there," Ron interrupted. "I don't think we're going to find any books with titles like, 'How to Seduce Your Possibly Straight Best Friend: A Guide for Gay Wizards.' Well, except maybe in the Restricted Section."

Hermione hit him playfully on the arm and Ron smirked at her. Even when Hermione was playing matchmaker, she was so serious, almost academic, about it. He was damn lucky that he had her, of all people, to support and encourage him right now.

Just as Ron was thinking this, they entered the Great Hall, where Hogwarts students were starting to fill the seats for dinner...and _he_ came into view. The only one Ron's eyes saw in a crowded room. Harry came striding towards them, a look of worry creasing his beautiful face. Could there be more behind that worry than feelings of friendship? Ron wished he could tell.

"Look who I finally found, Harry," said Hermione before the dark- haired boy had a chance to say a word.

"Well, I'm glad it _was_ a Weasley after all," Harry said, breaking into one of those dazzling grins that was like a gunshot going off to send Ron's heart racing. It beat even faster when Harry put his arm around Ron's shoulders as he said, "Mate, I'm glad you care so much about beating Slytherin, but next time you should invite me to practice Quidditch with you. You gave us a bit of scare by disappearing like that."

"Sorry, Harry," Ron apologized, trying to keep up his appearance of being calm and casual has he smiled back. "I reckon I've learned my lesson, 'cos 'Mione read me the riot act for skipping classes."

"Oh, I let you off easy," Hermione sniffed. Then she turned back to Harry and said, "Luckily, Ron and I got a chance to talk. We...decided not to be a couple anymore."

"Really?" Harry's thick, dark eyebrows shot up. "Not to sound rude or nosy or anything, but what happened?"

"Well...we just agreed that friendship was the best form our relationship could take," Hermione replied solemnly. "Don't you think so, Harry?"

Ron knew that she was being intentionally vague, and attempting to test Harry in the hopes that his response would betray how he felt about Hermione and Ron no longer being together – and consequently how he felt about Ron, in particular, being single. But, frustratingly, Harry's response was as difficult as tea leaves to read.

"If it's what you want, and neither one of you is hurt, then that's all I care about. Honestly, when you two started going out, I was afraid that if it didn't work out then you might end up hating one another. And Merlin knows there have been enough spats between us through the years." He paused, and then said jovially, "C'mon, let's get dinner, I'm famished."

As Harry turned on his heel and led the way toward the Gryffindor tables, Ron whispered to Hermione,

"What in the bloody hell am I supposed to make of that?"

Hermione shrugged, and whispered back, "I'm not sure. He said he wanted you to invite him to practice Quidditch with you, though. Maybe you can use that as an opportunity to talk to him about all this."

Ron knew that he would soon get tired of trying to guess how Harry felt about him instead of knowing for certain, especially since Harry was being uncharacteristically ambiguous. With a surge of determination, he decided that he was going to put his unanswered questions to rest if it killed him. It couldn't be any worse than all the misery that he'd been going through for the past few months, after all.


	5. Between Passion and Poetry

A/N: This chapter's title comes from a full quote from Oscar Wilde's letter to his lover Bosie – it reads, "Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry."

**Chapter 4: Between Passion and Poetry**

Strange, how love has the power to make you do things you'd never, in your wildest of dreams, imagine yourself doing.

This is the thought that struck Ron as he bent over a piece of parchment in a vacant corner of the library one Saturday afternoon, fervently trying to write a poem. It was now mid-November, and Ron had finally decided how he would go about letting Harry know that he loved him. It might be a stupid plan, but it was the one he had come up with and he wasn't going to change it now: he would attach to Harry's Christmas present a letter or poem he'd written which hinted (not very subtly) at how he felt.

The poetry-writing hadn't exactly come out the way he planned, however. He had initially thought that, though he wasn't the most poetic person in the world, how hard could it be to write a few rhymed lines? But once he put his quill to parchment, he found that transferring his feelings into writing was much more difficult than he'd anticipated. He was disgusted at how his attempts at verse ended up being, in his mind, the most maudlin ditties imaginable:

"Could you view me as more than a friend,  
But a soulmate whose love  
And devotion for you will never end?  
The sound of your voice is sweeter than a jailer's pardon.  
I love doing everything with you – playing Quidditch,  
Going to Hogsmeade, and even de-gnoming Mum's garden.  
I care for you more than all five of my brothers.  
I hope you don't mind if I tell you  
That I dream of you being my lover."

"Rubbish, absolute _rubbish_!" he grumbled, crumpling up the parchment so loudly that Madame Pince hissed, "Ssssh!" Hermione, who was sitting at the table with Ron, quickly cast a silencing spell over their corner of the library so that they wouldn't be heard, and looked at what he'd just written.

"This isn't so bad, Ron," she said, smiling. "The bit about the jailer's pardon is actually a pretty good metaphor."

"It'd be better if it weren't followed by that horrid line about de-gnoming the garden at the Burrow," he sighed, lying his head down on the table. "If I gave this to Harry, he'd laugh at me and think it was a joke. And when I told him it wasn't a joke, he'd think I was an absolute twat."

"Harry doesn't think that of you - you _know_ he doesn't!" Hermione protested, looking at Ron incredulously.

"No, actually I really _don't _know that. Really, Hermione, even if he isn't one hundred percent straight, I don't know why he'd be the least bit interested in _me_. It's not like I have anything to offer him. I'm not really clever like you, or brave like him...I couldn't even win him on my looks. I'm just an awkward, talentless prat who always has his foot in his mouth."

"Ron, please give yourself some credit," sighed a very annoyed Hermione, who looked like she would slap him if he continued to degrade himself. "After all, I dated you, didn't I? Are you saying that I have bad taste in men?"

"Well, no," Ron sputtered, "but...ugh, there you go tricking me again!"

"Tricking you into what - not beating yourself up? I'm just trying to show you that you already have all those good qualities that you say Harry and I have, and more. As far as I'm concerned, you're meant to be with him. I can see that now. It's why I don't mind letting you go, Ron. I want to see the two of you together as much as you do."

"Thanks, Hermione," he said softly, humbled again by what a great friend she'd been to him during this entire unrequited love ordeal. He wished he had the confidence in himself that she had. "But I still don't want to give him this bloody poem."

"Why not? It doesn't have to be Shakespeare for him to appreciate it. A lot of people love it when their admirers write them corny love poems."

"But I don't _want_ it to be a bunch of sap. I want it to tell him how I really feel."

"Well, does it really do such a terrible job of representing how you feel? Is there any part of that poem that you didn't mean?"

Ron looked down at the poem again, and realized that she was right: he'd meant every word of it. Even the line he hated so much about de-gnoming his garden was true.

Hermione went on, "Are you really going to wait until Christmas to give it to him?"

"Well, I might have no choice. Have you noticed how little he's been around lately?"

"Yeah, he's been doing a disappearing act of his own," Hermione noted, remembering how, that morning, Harry had very vaguely told them that he wouldn't be going to Hogsmeade with them because he had something he needed to do.

"He's probably avoiding me. He probably figured out everything, and is disgusted by the thought of me wanting him," Ron said fearfully. Every now and then, when he was trying to be positive about his chances with Harry, he slipped into a state of pessimism like this. Hermione rebutted him with a shake of her head.

"Ron, unless you've been groping him in your dormitory at night, he probably has no idea yet. I think we'll find out what's going on soon enough."

* * *

That evening, the boy once again gazed at himself in the mirror, so angry at what he saw. He felt pathetic. How could he even let himself hope that the one he loved could glance at this body, examine this mind and soul, and find something to love back? Not with how he'd messed things up, he thought.

With a deep breath – as if he were inhaling all of his fears and frustrations – he grabbed some floo powder and threw it into the flames of a nearby fireplace. "Lupin," he called, "are you there?"

The head of the kindly-faced, grey-haired werewolf appeared amidst the flames.

"Yes, I'm here, Harry," he replied. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm alright, I suppose...well, actually I'm not," Harry admitted. He was glad that it wasn't the full moon as he asked hesitantly, "Are you busy right now? Could I floo into Grimmauld Place and talk with you?"

"Of course, my boy. I'm not busy at all."

In another moment, Harry found himself standing inside the dark, somber dining room of his late godfather's old home. Dusting the ashes off his clothes and wiping his glasses, he turned toward Remus Lupin – the last surviving Marauder (Harry refused to count Wormtail among them), and the man who was now the closest thing he had to a father figure. The older wizard was already off in the kitchen, heating some water for tea on the stove.

"I hope you don't mind that I only have-"

"Tea bags are just fine," Harry interrupted, smiling a little. He took a seat at the small, simple round table made of unfinished wood that stood in the center of the dining room. It seemed that Lupin, even though he'd been living at Grimmauld Place for several months now, hadn't done much decorating. The house looked very much the same since Harry had last seen it, when it served as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, and Sirius was still alive...

Harry tried not to sadden himself too much with thoughts of Sirius as Lupin took a seat across from him and handed him a mug of steaming hot tea.

"Thanks for letting me show up here with no notice," he said, stirring his drink with a spoon. Lupin gave him one of his characteristic gentle smiles and replied,

"Actually, I've been hoping for quite some time that you would drop by and visit me. I knew you couldn't over the summer, having to stay with your relatives. Speaking of which, I hope they didn't give you much trouble over the holiday?"

"No, your threats last June seemed to work. They definitely weren't _nice_ to me by any means, but they weren't as horrible as they've been before. You have no idea what a relief that was."

"I'd do anything to look out for you, Harry. What did you want to talk about?" Lupin inquired, cutting to the chase.

Harry was quiet for a moment, continuing to stir his tea. He wanted to tell Lupin everything – telling him was, after all, what he'd come here for. But a small part of him felt silly for thinking that there was _anyone_ who would understand.

"Is it Sirius?" Lupin dared to ask. "You don't know how much I've hated being silent about that. I wanted desperately to talk to you about it whenever you felt ready."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "I miss him, and I still don't know how to make sense of what happened to him...I used to blame myself..."

"Oh, Harry," Lupin said, and for a moment it looked as though tears were welling up in his grey eyes.

"But I don't anymore," Harry continued, not wanting to upset the older wizard. "Someone helped me out a lot, by listening while I just stood there and yelled and cried about it for awhile. You know, I was able to get it out finally. And after that I realized that it really wasn't my fault...even though, in a way, it would be so much easier for me if it were my fault, because then I could have someone to blame. Someone besides Bellatrix and Voldemort..."

Lupin nodded in understanding. "I know. I also wished I could convince myself that there was something else I could have done."

"But the thing is, Lupin, as much as I do want to talk to you about Sirius sometime soon...because you know more about him than any other living person I know, and I know you miss him as much as I do...I really wanted to talk to you about something else tonight."

Lupin looked slightly surprised, but nonetheless let Harry know he was listening by the "I'm-all-ears" look he adopted. Harry realized that Lupin was waiting for him to continue, so he took in a sharp little breath and began,

"I wanted to talk to about...the person I was telling you about, the one who listened to me and helped me so much. Because I actually think I've, er...fallen in love with this person."

A wide smile crossed Lupin's pale, tired face. It was the happiest Harry had seen him look in a very long time.

"Really?" was all Lupin said. "May I ask who the lucky lady is?"

Another sharp intake of breath.

"It's not a girl, Lupin...it's Ron. I'm in love with Ron."

For a second – maybe not even an entire second, just a fraction of one – Harry saw the expression of shock he'd been expecting. But as soon as that fraction of a second was over, Lupin laughed – a small, strange laugh – and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.

"Oh, I'm such an ass," Lupin muttered, sounding almost as if he were talking to himself. "How could I, of all people, make an assumption like that..."

"Um, Lupin?" Harry asked, bewildered. "What are you...what are you talking about?"

"Nothing, Harry – nevermind. So you're in love with Ron? Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Harry replied lamely. Then, "I – I honestly didn't think you'd be giving me your congratulations. I didn't think I'd be congratulated by _anyone_."

"Harry, I couldn't care less if the person you care about is male or female, if that's what you mean. With the state of things today, the fact that people are still falling in love at all is a wonderful thing," Lupin replied seriously. "Your parents had the courage to stay together during the First War, and I always applauded them for it. Many people, during times like these, don't dare form relationships because they're afraid of what they might lose. I'm happy to find that you're not like that. And I must say that you've picked a very worthy person to set your sights on."

"Yeah, I have," Harry said, a smile creeping its way onto his face at the thought of Ron. Then, remembering why he'd been compelled to talk to Lupin, his smile faded and he added, "But there's a problem, a big one. Ron doesn't know...and I'm not sure if I should let him know..."

"Why haven't you told him?"

"Well, because it's not easy," Harry said, surprised that Lupin didn't see what was causing him to hesitate. "Until very recently, he was dating Hermione. Then they broke up, and neither one of them told me the reason why. I had my suspicions about it - I considered the tiny chance that maybe Ron liked me - but I didn't want to get my hopes up. And now..."

Here he arrived at the root of the problem; the thing that had been bothering him so much that he'd felt the need to see his older mentor.

"I've been kind of avoiding Ron lately, because I didn't want him to suss out how I felt. I guess I've been acting that way, on purpose, so that he wouldn't be able to tell one way or another. When he broke up with Hermione I should have made my move right then, but for some reason it just made me more afraid. And I think I just ruined my chances completely. I don't even know if I've even been as good a friend to him as I used to be. And that's horrid of me, because part of the reason why I fell in love with him is because I realized what a great friend he's been to _me,_ what an amazing person he really is. But now I doubt that there's any reason why he could like me now, let alone love me."

Lupin had remained silent while Harry was taking. Now that he had paused and his speech seemed to be over, Lupin stood up out of his chair and crossed over to the other side of the room. It took a few moments before Harry realized what he was looking at – a photograph of the Black family that was taken when Sirius was a young man, next to the tapestry of "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." Lupin lightly touched Sirius' form with his thin finger.

"Harry, there's something that I should tell you, as well," he said at last, not taking his eyes off the picture. "I knew I wanted to tell you someday, but I was waiting for the right time. I'm certain that now, more than any other, is that time." He turned back to Harry, and sat down at the table again.

"Please don't think," he said sincerely, gazing intently at Harry with a very grave look on his face, "that I don't know what you're going through. I know exactly what you are going through, because I went through it myself. You see...I was in love with my best friend, when I was your age. I was in love with Sirius."

Now it was Harry's turn to be shocked. All he could do was stammer, "W-what? No one ever told - said anything to me about it..."

"No, of course they didn't. For one thing, I'm a private man, you know that. I suppose all those years of hiding my lycanthropy have made me used to it. And Sirius and I decided together, long ago, that we would only only divulge it on a 'need-to-know' basis. Your parents knew, of course, and I'm sure others had strong suspicions. As of last year, we still were not quite ready to tell you. We thought you had more important things to worry about than two middle-aged gay wizards."

Lupin saw Harry's subsequent look and said gently, "Yes, Sirius knew how I felt about him; it wasn't my secret forever. We were together. After we met again two years ago in the Shrieking Shack and I found out that he'd never betrayed James and Lily, we picked things back up. We were still together when he died."

Finally finding his voice, Harry asked, "But you're saying that you did keep it a secret from him at one point? When did you...?"

"Not until our sixth year at Hogwarts. I'd had a crush on him long before that. But I didn't do anything about it for ages, because...well, for some of the same reasons that you gave me for hiding your feelings from Ron. I didn't think that Sirius could care for me in that way. He was...very popular with the girls. He never had any serious girlfriends, but he managed to convince everyone that he enjoyed all the female attention he received. And considering my condition, I didn't feel I was particularly worthy of being loved."

He paused to smile as if at some happy memory before he continued, "I'd started to form a friendship with your mother, since we were both prefects and were forced to spend a lot of time together. I trusted her enough to tell her how I felt about Sirius, and she encouraged me to tell him. If not for Lily, I doubt I would have screwed up the courage and taken the plunge myself. I'm almost certain that, otherwise, Sirius and I never would have had what we had."

"So... you're telling me I should 'take the plunge' and tell Ron?" Harry said slowly.

"What I'm telling you, Harry, is that I was _this close_ to missing out on what was the most passionate, most fulfilling relationship I've experienced...or ever will. Sirius had been my friend since I first set foot into Hogwarts, and I will always be grateful for those years of friendship. But he was also the love of my life. When I think of all that I could have missed, because of my insecurity and cowardice..."

Lupin put his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes, as if he did not want to even imagine what it would have been like if his cowardice had won out.

"Oh, God, Remus," said Harry as realization set in. "The two of you were separated for twelve years while he was in Azkaban. And you didn't just lose an old friend when Sirius died - you lost your..." He stopped, not knowing what noun to use. Boyfriend? Lover? Husband? Partner? None of those words seemed like they could adequately describe what Sirius and Remus probably meant to one another. "I'm so, so sorry," Harry said, tears filling his eyes. "I had no idea...and all this time you've been suffering alone..."

"Don't you spend a moment worrying about me," Lupin said firmly, even as his voice cracked. "Sirius and I had a good run. I've already had my chance at a loving relationship; you haven't yet. And I don't want you to have the regrets I almost had. Whatever fears may be holding you back now, it will be worth it, no matter what the outcome may be, to tell Ron. You've already missed out on so much – knowing your parents, and you only had two years with your godfather. You couldn't have prevented those losses, but you have all the power in the world now. It would kill me to see this become yet another thing you've missed out on."

Harry got up from the table, hugged him tightly, and said quickly,

"You're right, Lupin. You're absolutely right. I have to go, but I'll be back soon and I promise that when I do, I'll have good news." Without another word he floo powdered back to Hogwarts, his tea still swirling in his cup.


End file.
